Purgatory
by colourbars
Summary: Bakura Ryou had always been a fervent believer in the distinct line between good and evil; Yugi Motou was good, Malik Ishtar was evil. When he learns the truth of his yami's creation, however, he finds the line blurs just a little too much for his comfort.


Bakura Ryou had always been a fervent believer in the distinct line between 'good' and 'evil', and no interaction he had ever had tempted him to change his mind on this.

He saw the world through a fish-eye lens that distorted things just enough for him to be able to feel confident in classifying people to one side or the other, and while his mother in particular had always scolded him for being 'so black and white about everything' he never saw the problem with it. Things were meant to be sorted and ordered; he had always known this, always thought it, and the nature of people was no different as far as he was concerned. His rule of thumb was just as simplistic - if they (his latest acquaintance) were kind and gentle and left a good impression, generally they would be 'good', and if not, then 'evil'. Very simple, very easy.

His sister, for example, had been an angel. He would swear to this without a doubt. Even without the soft white hair that he shared with her framing her childish face just so, Bakura Ryou had always, would always, remember her as an angel. The last lingering blessing he had been given before everything was stripped away.

They'd had 7 and a half years together as siblings before Amane and his mother died that fateful evening, and still he woke up some nights in a cold sweat as the memories infected his otherwise peaceful dreams. But he never felt any anger towards them for it. He had always blamed himself for what happened with the usual excuses, 'he should have been there' or 'if he had just skipped school that day' and other such meaningless statements that would only serve to upset him more. Looking back, he supposed it would be perfectly reasonable for the 'Spirit of the Ring' as he had taken to calling it (he? Bakura wasn't sure exactly, but the only time it had ever shown itself to him he had been certain the figure was masculine) to have known about his sister, and maybe if things hadn't been quite so unfortunate they might also have met.

Bakura Ryou was unshakably convinced for almost the entirety of 16 years that he was right in making the line between 'good' and 'evil' people so plain and simple. The only person to ever have shaken his faith in that had been the very person he first decided was resolutely 'evil' - his 'other self'. The Spirit and he had never openly talked about anything relevant to any situations currently presenting themselves to the two, it was always menial things like the latest book Bakura had started reading or whether or not the Spirit could touch and sense things like a living person could. Nothing more than idle chit-chat, but Bakura even then treasured it.

'Good' never mixed with 'evil', and 'evil' never won against 'good'.

That was the rule of every storybook ever written, certainly of every one Bakura had read, and he was inclined to believe it held just as true in this world as in any of the others he had read about. There was also an unspoken hatred for 'evil' that he had never quite figured out, and on that decisive day while sitting on a flight to Egypt, surrounded by his friends, he had never been more convinced that 'good' was no better than 'evil'.

They came without warning, the memories, like someone had turned a valve in his head and suddenly everything flooded in like a tidal wave of blood and pain and sorrow all mixing together in his head. He remembered screaming, and somewhere in the back of his mind he vaguely understood it was his voice, and then nothing but blackness for the longest of times. When he came to he wasn't in the real world anymore but instead sealed deep within the confines of the Ring - the Spirit's doing no doubt - and for a moment he allowed himself the luxury of thinking he was alone. That is, until a sharp voice prodded through the silence, startling Bakura into scrambling upward to stand, his fists clenching nervously.

'How much did you see?'

That was all the Spirit said before he (by now Bakura could be in no doubt that the Spirit was a 'he', the Spirit had gone so far as to steal everything else about his identity so why think that was an exception) fell quiet, and it was some moments before Bakura realised he was being looked at expectantly. This was his turn to talk, and though he opened his mouth the words just wouldn't come out, and he watched helplessly as the Spirit's gaze turned curious. Quizzical. Mocking, almost, but with a slight edge of concern that Bakura couldn't honestly say he thought his other half capable of what with everything Yugi and his other half, who Bakura now recognised as the pharaoh from the Spirit's memories. Fumbling for what seemed like an eternity, Bakura managed a breathy, 'Everything', before he was forced to fall silent again under the strength of the Spirit's relentless gaze.

The word stretched between them like a wound thread, curling and wrapping itself around the pair and bringing them closer together inch by inch until, at last, the tips of their noses brushed. Then, moving as though under a spell, the Spirit nudged forward the remaining distance, and the last thought Bakura had before he closed his eyes and sank into the feeling was that he was glad his first kiss had gone to the Spirit.

What a mess his neat little line had become.


End file.
